A�ROACH�LIFE
By
TOM�MILLER
�
you get it into your head
it goes something like this:
"i'm not going to make it.
the whole thing's a sham."
�
you're there in the bar
drinking a fancy drink
mostly mixer
but you act like it's
all gin
�
you slur your worrrrds
�
pretend the lady sitting next to you
is somebody you're permitted to talk with
�
move over to where she's sitting
she's drinking gin
straight gin
�
"hi," you say
it's feeble
pathetic
�
"hi yourself," she replies.
it's angels calling from the
heavens-- she and her gin--
she's tougher than you
�
she can take it
�
"my name is frank.
what's your name?" you ask.
you ask sincerely
�
"why?" she says.
�
you're baffled
you don't know why
�
you don't know if you
want to screw her or
get into her head to
see how she works
�
and if it's to see how she
works it feels all fake
even if it isn't
�
even if it's real
that's what you get
�
"because," you continue
"because i'd like to meet you."
�
"what for?" she replies.
"who are you that i should meet you?
Especially in this place. who would
i ever want to meet in this place?"
�
you counter,
"not everybody here is an asshole.
some of us are sincere and decent."
�
then
you remember your last visit
to the SHADY BAR
�
you ordered a PINK VIRGIN
a concoction made from cream
peach schnapps and a cherry
�
you sat in the same seat
talking to an ugly woman with
a busted lip and three teeth
�
her tit was hanging out of her
dirty bra it had brown around
the nipple like someone had had
her tit up the ass
�
but with all the PINK VIRGINS
you had had that night she looked like
a perfect princess like the high
school prom queen-- the one who told
you you had a face like a sidewalk
�
and you said,
"what's your name?"
�
she looked at you as if
maybe
she might at least
suck your dick in the toilet
stall and swallow but instead
�
she said, "get away from me,
you white nigger!"
�
she moved away from you and
went with the guy with the oil
in his hair and four teeth
�
her kind
�
they made it together
somewhere so you could see it
�
you watched them suck each other's
lips like animals at the zoo they
drooled and tongues darted in and
out of places that haven't seen a
toothbrush in weeks
�
you thought about bacteria and
leeches death and crabs
�
you became erect and envious
�
they couldn't make enough
PINK VIRGINS to put you
out of this hell but you
ordered another one just the same
�
this time
you couldn't taste the peach
but you didn't care
�
it was over
�
�
�
�
the people
all have faces
like they were cut out
of magazines
�
those are the pretty ones
�
others have it like
sand blasted sphinxes
old and weathered and old
�
those are the ones that
make it
�
possessing the beautiful
like collectors of antiquity
�
polishing and nurturing and
admiring their expensive prizes
�
you're not the one
�
it's that way every night
but you keep coming back like
chicken pox or herpes
�
the same old you
but you get better
�
you survive the poison
adapt to it
�
make food out of it
�
poison becomes nutrition
roaches lunching on
nerve gas
�
spray me
spray me
�
i love it
�
�
�
you try a compliment
�
they tell you
in the books about how to meet
that special someone they tell you
to compliment something about them
�
compliment a piece of jewelry
compliment the eyes; so poetic
compliment anything at all
�
women like to be complimented
and why shouldn't they
�
anyone who spends so many hours
in the bathroom putting on
the makeup and the fragrance
and the hairspray and the powder
and the lip gloss and the tampon
and the nail polish and the
accessories and the hair color
and the mouthwash and the
eye liner and the deodorant
and the girdle and the lift bra
and the pantyhose on the shaven
legs of summer
�
you might as well approach
a beautiful woman at the bar
and say, "what are you, a
yeti? what have you done to
yourself? you look like an
oil painting that hasn't dried."
�
but men admire the work ethic
look at the time she took
to hide herself and become
this advertisement
�
i want one
i would pay for one
so instead you say,
�
"nice eyes," or
"nice hair," or
"you smell nice" or
"lovely earrings," or
"a body like yours
shouldn't be ruined by
a dress even if it is
ralph lauren."
�
why don't we instead
go up to these women and tell
the truth
�
"listen bitch, you can throw
all the makeup and jewelry
and fashion design in your
cheap budget on your gangly frame
but let's face it
�
i want to stuff my
hose in your yank!"
�
this line never gets a man laid
but at least it's honest
�
so you go for the compliment
let's say it's earnest
�
let's say you say,
"god, you're beautiful.
�
if you were an island
i'd want to be stranded on you
�
if you were a jail
I'd want to be imprisoned in you
�
if you were a rainbow
i'd be your storm."
�
but the truth is
you want to grind your pole
in her clam until you
shoot your ratty juice
and then
�
isn't it true;
she's the last thing you'd like
to see in your bed in the
morning?
�
sure.
�
you'd wake up
peel the sheets away from
the dried cum on your stomach
�
turn to her
looking at the crust
at the corner of her lips
�
the crust in her eyes
the crust at her dusty snatch
�
look at the blotch of blood
in the center of the sheets
and say to yourself,
�
"i should have fed the octopus
in my salt water tank." but
maybe you had her for her mind.
�
yes
her mind
�
her mind
�
�
�
she wakes up
�
"where am i? who are you?
O god, no. i really need
to go. O god, why? Why did
i... what am i doing here...
my boyfriend's going to
kill me..." etc. etc.
�
you make her a boiled egg
�
she doesn't eat it
�
she throws on her clothing
and heads out of your
nasty little home as fast
as her cinderella feet can
carry her
�
and you eat the egg
you wash the sheet because
you know you don't want to
sleep in that smell
�
that smell that seems
to last for days
�
you find a personal
vaginal napkin in the trashcan
in the bathroom and there's
a white viscous fluid involved
�
she goes home to her boyfriend
they make passionate love
he gets your cum on his dick
and she bleeds on his bed too
�
meantime
you add lots of bleach to the laundry
and gag on the egg and call your mother
with whom you haven't spoken in years
�
"mom, hi. it's me, frank."
�
"frank? frank who?"
�
"your son, ma. i love you."
�
"who is this?" - click -
�
�
�
you'll be back at the bar
won't you
�
sure you will
�
you'll be drinking PINK VIRGINS
and looking at the beautiful people
�
you'll desire them
�
you'll imagine a life
where everything goes according
to the best movies you ever saw
�
you'll think about kissing
clean, clinical and germ free
�
you'll make passionate love and
there will be no blood, no yeast,
no inappropriate fluids
�
you'll get a house on a hill
with a white picket fence
�
you'll communicate and grow
and learn and prosper
�
you'll have children
one boy and one girl
and they'll be perfect little children
�
they'll go to school and become
a doctor and a lawyer
�
they'll drive nice cars
you'll sit on the porch swing with
your wife and while away the days
�
she'll knit a sweater and you'll
carve a piece of wood into a monkey
�
yes
�
that's what will happen
�
yes
�
sure it will
�
�
this is it and that's all there is
�
�
drink a few beers
watch the video play
listen to classical music
�
and this is it
there's nothing more to it
�
why bother
feeling what someone else
is feeling
�
�
clock tick tick
�
�
numbers go by
counting the moments
that can never be
remembered
�
the way they were
�
not in paintings
poems or
stories told in some
library to a bunch of
stoned kids dying to
get out of there and
back to the canal where
the fish are legendary
�
triumphs
�
they drop their lines
and wait
�
wait watching the water
go by
�
�
poem after poem
�
�
you can type it
in a hurry
�
that doesn't make
a poem bad
�
per se
�
no and sometimes
it makes a poem better
�
to just
spill it out
�
like soup and cum and
gasoline
�
there can be power
in a poem
�
written in a hurry
�
�
call the medics -- it could be the end
�
�
in the middle of a poem
he clutched his heart
�
reached over to the phone and
dialed 911
�
emergency! emergency!
the poet has done something important!
�
of course they arrive
several hours late
�
and the poet is dead
and the poem has become
�
smudged out in the blood
�
�
3 poems for 3 people
�
�
1: you are worthless
kill yourself
save air for people
that matter
�
2: heard you died recently
don't tell anyone or they
might make a big deal
about it
�
3: sometimes i think
about what it means
to be alive and sometimes
i think about what it means
to be dead
�
i suppose
either one will do
�
�
courage in the face of destiny
�
�
i put a flask of sake in the microwave
forty-five seconds
�
and as the sake warmed
i noticed an ant crawling around
�
i thought
he's going to fry and i watched
�
like a guard at the
halocaust
�
forty-five seconds later
the ant was still crawling around
�
i had a certain admiration
for his courage as i pulled out
�
the sake flask and
crushed the ant with my finger
�
�
this writing will get me nowhere
�
�
i imagine
in a dream of sorts
that someone will bail me out
�
say something like
he's good or maybe
he's great
�
on a stage
they'll gather around
to hear me read
poems i've written
�
but the dream
turns sour
�
the audience boos
and leaves
�
then there's nothing left
but me on the stage
under the lights
�
then the lights go out
�
�
there must be someone
�
�
out there
i walk the streets
watch my shadow
dance
�
from wall to
wall
�
across the bushes
pirouettes over the grass
the most beautiful thing
in the moonlight
�
sometimes
i see the whole body
alive with darkness
�
other times
spinning off into
blackness
�
blackness in
black
�
invisible
�
this is my love
�
�
terracotta floors
�
�
3:39 a.m.
�
typing into this monster
screen
�
letters
on a board
like a typewriter
only modern
�
i can talk with anybody
in the world if
if so desire
�
who has a computer
like i do
�
but for those who don't
i'll may never know them
just as i may never know
�
the deep tiny lines
in the terracotta floors
only a microscope can
show me
�
i don't own a microscope
some don't own computers
and some
�
will never know
the deep tiny lines
�
�
skeleton face
�
�
my friend
has a skull
in his file cabinet
�
we look at it
on occasion
and often laugh
�
it could have been
someone important or
maybe just another
jerk
�
like so many people
i know who are alive
with flesh on their heads
�
but they'll all end up
like this
�
and
if they're lucky
�
they'll end up
in a file cabinet
where somebody might
look at them and
on occasion
laugh
�
instead of
underground where
nobody laughs or
cries or
�
anything
�
�
march 3rd
�
�
if people talk
i can't hear them
now
�
everything is quiet
except for the humming
of the computer
�
outside
moisture is forming on the
grass in diamond beads
�
clouds move by
quietly
�
clouds always move by
quietly
�
this is march 3rd
�
something may happen
to make this date matter
�
i'll know tomorrow
when i read the newspaper
�
it will most likely be
a death that will make
march 3rd matter
�
somebody famous perhaps
or maybe somebody who
doesn't matter at all
�
�
help me
�
�
sometimes
i ask for help
�
i ask into the air
to no one in particular
�
i say,
"help me. please, help."
�
then i cry
like an actor cries
�
fake tears
sometimes it seems
�
i feel
retarded
�
drink my beer in gulps
mad gulps
�
eat some pill
any pill
�
then life becomes smooth
smooth, so far...
�
not death or
sickness
�
more like comedy
and i laugh
�
fake laugh
�
laugh like a kid
who doesn't know what's coming
�
�
father
�
�
i've written a few poems about my father and i'm not sure why
because he was a sort of worthless drunk wishywashy guy-- not
much of a man-- i'll tell you a story-- i was in the back seat
of the car and i couldn't have been more than 14 years old-- and
mom was in the passenger seat-- we were on our way to disney
world-- and i saw my mom reach over with her hand-- and i saw
my father reach over with his hand-- and they interlocked their
pinky fingers-- and i looked at the two of them with their pinky
fingers interlocked and thought, "christ, how pathetic!"-- but of
course i didn't say anything-- i was much more excited about going
to disney world and going down main street to the magic shop where
i would make my father buy me a magic trick that turns quarters
into dimes-- and when we got there that's exactly what i did--
and the trick cost twenty-five dollars and after i read the
instructions i asked my father for a quarter and he gave it to me
and i put it into the magical box and waved my arm and abracadabra
the quarter turned into a dime that i gave back to my father
who said, "how about that!" and put the dime in his pocket and i
pocketed the quarter and used it later to buy candy-- i always
bought candy which ended up rotting my teeth and costing over
eight-hundred dollars to pull out of my face-- but i'll never forget
my father and the time we went to the movies and in the middle of
a big action sequence he said he had to go to the bathroom and i
waited and waited for him to come back-- and when he didn't come
back i went out of the theater to look for him and found him in
the bar next door drunk again on martinis.
�
i cried because we always shammed each other even though we loved
each other.
�
that's when i was 14 but i know better now. he's dead and i'm an
alcoholic.
�
�
sleep & dream
�
�
the old world
disappears
and a new one
emerges
�
rainbow colors
naked jaunts
around the block
the neighbors wave
hello
�
you fuck the
dog down the street
and the girl scout
and the alter boy
�
then you fly
on the roof of the
gas station and
spit fire until the
sheriff shoots you
down
�
but the bullets go
through you and you
laugh
�
scream and laugh
and cry
�
fly off
into a tornado and
die 3 maybe 4 times
�
your powers weaken
you fall into the snow
�
you think about santa
santa clause at the mall
�
marriage and
strap-on eleven inch
cocks
�
and lipstick
�
smiling when you're angry
for the camera
�
the money and the
glory
�
money and the
glory
�
money and the
glory
�
O lawdy O lawd
�
she is standing there
her arms outstretched
�
tears and mouth
tits and heart
�
her arms outstretched
she reaches for you
�
reaches for
anything you can give her
�
but what can you give her
that matters?
�
the sound of gunfire as
black birds scatter
into the wind
�
�